


All About You

by rosehathaway



Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Linstead, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7266739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosehathaway/pseuds/rosehathaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 3.14. Erin deals with the aftermath of Yates, and her partner is not letting her do it alone. Not this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All About You

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from a song by Birdy.

She is sitting in front of brown polished bar at Molly’s, staring at her unfinished drink. The people around her are drinking and laughing about something. Olivia had to leave a while back to catch her flight back to New York, and even though she left Erin a bit lighter than she was when they came to Molly’s, she still carries a heavy mind. She can’t quite force herself to down the drink she ordered and go home. What does it even mean anymore? Now that her place has been tainted with Yates’s presence, she doesn’t know how she can go back there, and pretend that today’s events never happened, that he was never there, that she didn’t shoot him; pretend that today didn’t bring back all the memories of Nadia – the good and the bad. The golden brown liquor in the glass she’s clutching is supposed to help, but so far, the oblivion she craves is stubbornly slipping through her fingers.

Her phone buzzes with texts of people worried about her. Her unit. Her family. The people she has pushed away time and time again, and they still always come back. It buzzes when Hank calls, and she answers, because she knows he’s worried. His gravelly voice somehow sooths her soul and she promises him to reach out if she needs help. She murmurs all the right things, all the things he needs to hear, so that at least one of them will sleep soundly tonight.

She is about to text everyone back that she’s fine, when a familiar figure pops up beside her and orders a drink. Her partner then glances at her, without pushing her to talk, without talking himself. He just looks at her, examining the dark patches under her eyes, the black in her eyes, the shoved-down grief brought back up to the surface. He doesn’t say a word, and he doesn’t need to. He knows her better than most people. He exchanges a couple of words with Dawson behind the bar and his fingers wrap around the half full glass she sets in front of him. He looks forward, while his partner’s eyes drill into his side and for a minute he pretends he doesn’t notice.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, almost angrily, tired of everyone being so god damn patronizing. She’s had to put up with it the entire day and the memory of the team leaving her behind to go find Yates is still too fresh in her memory. Even though it wasn’t Jay’s call to leave her behind, she knows everybody, including him, was supporting Voight’s decision.

“I just thought you shouldn’t go home alone tonight,” he answers truthfully, not bothering to lie, or hide behind an excuse. “Maybe you should consider not going home at all,” he says quietly, without regret in his voice. He’s been here with her before, he’s dealt with her grief, and her heart wrenching, unapologetic anger, and everything be damned if he’s going to let her go down the same path again without putting up a good fight first. He is her partner, her best friend and her lover. He is the man she is−even though she hasn’t really admitted it to herself yet−in love with, so he feels it is well within his rights to make it his business.

He doesn’t expect her to cave in easily, but she stares into his eyes for a second, realizing that his reasons for being here, are the same reasons that are preventing her from going home. She begins to see he understands that the place that used to be her safe place, was now compromised by Yates’ presence. He also understands this is bringing back the flood of memories of Nadia, and her place holds even more of those. She turns to look at him, slowly nods and downs her drink in a single gulp. The whiskey burns her throat, almost making her cough, but it’s a good burn, the kind that reminds her she’s still here, alive.

“I just want you to know that you don’t have to talk to me,” he continues after her nod. “But you can, if you want to.”

It begins to sink in now. She sees he is here tonight to be anything that she needs. He is always here to be whatever she needs. Sometimes he seems to know what she needs better than she does. The feeling of gratitude comes in a giant wave that almost knocks her from her chair. She places a bill on the bar and nods in acknowledgement of his words. He takes that as a sign she’s ready to leave and they walk to their cars in silence. His car is parked next to hers, and yet he opens the passenger door of his own car for her to slide in.

“I’m okay to drive,” she murmurs, but the couple of whiskeys she had before he joined her are finally starting to kick in, and she knows it would be better if she just lets him drive this time. She wonders for a second, what it would be like, if she just let herself be vulnerable and let somebody take care of her for once, instead of being stubborn and refusing help. She slides into the passenger seat and buckles up.

“You finally get to drive,” she jokes, trying to make light of the situation. “Just don’t get too used to it.” He chuckles lightly, but his smile never reaches his eyes and she can tell he’s concerned.

“I’m fine,” she repeats, the words coming out automatically, and she is starting to feel like a broken record. She doesn’t know how many times she has said it to herself, and yet she still doesn’t believe it, so why would he. He stubbornly stares at the road ahead of them, not daring to look at her, because he knows. He knows she’s lying, and he doesn’t even have to look her in the eyes to be sure. “Hey, really, I’m okay,” she says once more, trying to reassure him, touching the hand that’s not resting on the steering wheel lightly. He swears under his breath and pulls the car onto an abandoned parking lot at the side of some building they were passing. They’re not there yet, so she wonders why the sudden stop was necessary.

“You’re fine?” he mutters. “Erin, I’m not fine, so how can you be?”

Pretences fall when he finally looks at her, and she understands why he’s had to pull over all of the sudden. There is so much pain in his eyes, she thinks it actually mirrors her own, and she can see all of it, even in the darkness of the cold Chicago night. She even feels it around them, sucking the air out of the confined space of the car. It forces her to take a sharp intake of air and it clenches her stomach into a tight knot. Because this is what she was trying to avoid tonight. He is going to make her deal with things. Things, she doesn’t know how to deal with; she didn’t know how to deal with them after Nadia was killed, she didn’t know how to deal with them when she walked into that house and met Yates without backup, and she doesn’t know now.

“I don’t know what I would have done, if something would’ve happened to you today,” he confesses calmly, with a voice as steady as he always is, but she knows that under that front, he is trying very hard to control it. She knows, because she knows him so well, because he’s her partner, and she knows all his little tics. She can tell his mood by the curve of his eyebrows and the line of his lips.  She knows all about him.

“I know,” she nods knowingly, because really, what can she say to that? Another ‘I’m fine’ wouldn’t do much more than it did before, and she knows from experience, there are no words to comfort someone who’s had their loved one in danger. She can still remember the dread she felt when he was kidnapped−the feeling of every hair on her body standing up; of not being able to swallow because of the knot in her throat, and the fear for their life simulated actual physical pain−so she understands why no reassurance will put this fear to rest.

“I’m not fine.” It feels good to say it, to tell the truth at last. “I’m not fine, but I’m here, with you. I’m trying.”

He seems to accept that answer and he continues driving after that, getting them to his place without any more words, or stops.

“Are you hungry? We can order takeout,” he offers once they arrive to his place, and she shakes her head.

“To be honest I just want to sleep,” she admits. And it’s true. She hates this feeling that’s pressing on her chest, the feeling of deep sadness, mixed with exhaustion, which is making her feel so damn vulnerable right now.

She lets him pull her close to him in bed, and rests her head in the nook of his neck, breathing in his unique scent. She lets the slow beating of his heart lull her to a slumber her body and mind craves so badly.

* * *

 

She dreams of her.

It’s not like it’s the first time. She’s dreamt of her before, many times. Most nights, she dreams of her death; of how pale her body looked when they found her, and of the way her eyes were so empty the last time she saw her. It’s been haunting her since that day.  Sometimes she dreams about the last time they spoke, and those dreams also have Nadia carrying a birthday cake for her, that always gets smashed on the ground.

But tonight she doesn’t dream about how they found her body. She dreams about the day she returned from the clinic. The way she was smiling at her, almost shyly, which was so uncharacteristic for Nadia. She dreams of her, almost as if Nadia wanted to thank her, for finally stopping Yates for good. She dreams of a happy Nadia, falling asleep next to her on her couch, while watching a soap opera.

She wakes up, face wet, her chest having in silent weeping, and she can’t keep it in anymore. She feels Jay awaken too, next to her, murmuring a sleepy “ _what’s wrong?”_ to her. And she doesn’t have enough air in her lungs to tell him everything that’s wrong. The weight she’s been carrying for too long is crushing her lungs and pressing on her heart, and it hurts. It hurts more than it’s ever hurt before. Erin knows she can trust Jay, and she does trust him, with her own life. The way he’s looking at her, full of concern and affection, makes her cry even harder.

“I miss her,” she manages to get out between weeping and sharp breaths, while the memories come back all at once. Her fingers curl into her hands, digging her nails into her own skin to the point of almost drawing blood. “She’s everywhere I look, at home, in the bullpen, even in the stupid car. She’s everywhere,” she whispers, wiping the tears away, only to make room for new ones. She’s almost angry at herself for letting her so deep into her life. It only makes Erin miss her harder. Her face is wet and strands of her hair are stuck on her hot cheeks and she feels even worse than she looks.

“Right now she is everywhere, but I’m so scared of forgetting her. That picture I have of us in the living room? It makes me want to cry every time I look at it, because I miss her so badly and it makes me think about everything he took away from her. But I also want to remember her. I’m the one person, who has to remember her, otherwise, who will?” Her feelings are in such a rush to get out, after being supressed for so long, she doesn’t even register that she isn’t making much sense, and that it’s all coming out at once, without order. But it’s out nonetheless and the weight is slowly disappearing and she begins to breathe.

His arms wrap around her then, unable to provide the much needed comfort, because this is something that was undealt with in the past, shoved below the surface and forgotten about, and now it’s found its way up.

“And someone needs to remember her. How she was like at the end. Alive and beautiful and strong. Because other people will just remember an ex-junkie who ended up murdered and she was so much more than that to me.” She takes a breath, relieved that it’s finally off her chest, and that he knows. They both still for a second, while she revels in the relief of letting go and he chooses his next words carefully.

“We will all remember Nadia. Everybody at the district loved her. I know I did. Because you simply couldn’t know her and not love her,” he states firmly. “I can’t bring her back, and I can’t do anything about you missing her, because that’s how it is, and the missing never really goes away. But I can assure you, nobody at 21st will ever forget her,” he assures her and holds her closer to his chest, rubbing calming circles onto her back, not even bothering to stop her crying anymore, because he knows she needs this. He lets her tears soak his shirt and he supports her shaking body as she cries. She cries loud, like he’s never seen her before, but then again this is months of supressed grief coming out, and grief, a bit like the ocean, cannot be contained for too long.

He holds her like that for hours, while she cries for Nadia, and for the life she will never get to have. And after minutes, or maybe hours, when her chest and her stomach hurt from the weeping, and her cheeks sting from the salty tears, she finally stops and drifts to sleep.

Jay sighs with relief, not because it’s annoying or because he wouldn’t want to hold her anymore−that’s pretty much all he ever wants to do−but because he wasn’t sure how much longer her body could take this. She curls up against him, her head resting on his torso. He gently removes the sticky hair from her face, and caresses her wet cheeks. His arms wrap protectively around her and he soon follows her.

* * *

 

She lifts her heavy head with difficulty. Confusion fills her at first, not sure where she is, or how she got there. The light is coming into the room from a weird angle, and the bed is definitely more comfortable than hers. Then she sees the familiar shape of the ceiling and recognizes the figure next to her. She wonders briefly, if it was all just a bad dream, and then reality hits her, and she realizes, sometimes even the worst dreams are in fact real.

But Yates is dead, and last night she managed to get rid of the pressing weight on her chest. At least in this moment, there is nothing she can do about any of it. So she slides off the bed slowly, careful not to wake up Jay, who still seems very much asleep and she stumbles into the bathroom. Horrified by her physical appearance, she thinks he’s seen her at worse, but still, she’s vain enough to freshen herself up a bit, before finally leaving the bathroom.

Her absence in the bed must have woken him up, because he’s sitting in the bed, looking as cute as ever, with his tousled hair and sleepy eyes. She smiles at him and joins him on the mattress, allowing herself to get lost in his eyes for a second. She marvels in the safety of his embrace, knowing that she’s let him in deeper than anyone else. There is no regret about it, just relief, because now she can breathe.

“You okay?” He asks, murmuring the question into her hair.

“I’m okay,” she confirms, and for the first time in months, she actually means it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I hope you guys enjoyed this. 
> 
> Feedback makes me happy. I can literally live off of it! I hate to beg, but please? :)
> 
> S/O to my lovely friend and beta Tracey (I love you!).


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